Shy
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: From the Glee Angst Meme: Kurt and Blaine are both pretty touch-starved and it's wearing down on them both. Kurt can't initiate even though he'd absolutely kill for a decent hug and Blaine just wants to trust someone enough to be able to ask for it.


Shy

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><p>Summary: From the Glee Angst Meme:<p>

_So, it's pretty canon that Kurt is not exactly a physically demonstrative person. In fact, it's a pretty easy assumption that he's a bit touch shy-too many slushies will do that to you, even if he'll never admit how much he easily he'd melt into a gentle touch. He'll never initiate it though, because asking for it is, well, __asking for it__. It's not like Blaine thinks he's all that physically attractive, anyway._

_Blaine, otoh, is pretty hands on-but only on his own terms. He got his ass kicked at his old school and the last time his parents laid a hand on him was when they thought he was going to be their ideal prodigy and not get the shit kicked out of him at school. Dalton's great, but it's a bit formal and no matter how often he claps Kurt on the shoulder his knees do this weird thing when Kurt touches him back, but that's not that often and what if he's pushing too hard, like always? This might be his only chance not to fuck it up._

_tl;dr, Kurt and Blaine both have some physical contact issues, they angst or awk fluff their way around them. Misunderstandings and angst or fluff galore, up to author_

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><p>Disclaimer: No.<p>

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><p>shy<p>

_verb_ /SHī/  
><em>shied, past participle;<em>_shied, past tense;__shies, 3rd person singular present;__shying, present participle_

(esp. of a horse) Start suddenly aside in fright at an object, noise, or movement

Avoid doing or becoming involved in (something) due to nervousness or a lack of confidence

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><p>Kurt wouldn't hesitate to say that he didn't trust men.<p>

Girls could be cruel but they tended to fight with claws instead of fists and Kurt definitely had a set of his own. He trusted girls, not because they were intrinsically more accepting of him or because he felt he was stronger than them compared to men, not a chance. If anyone said otherwise, he'd direct them immediately to the presence of Miss Santana Lopez and she'd straighten that right out.

Kurt trusted girls because he knew that he could _defend_ himself if he needed to.

It was infinitely easier for him to throw off a barb or a nasty word than it was for him to overpower someone physically and everyone knew it. Everyone had seen that he could be vicious and everyone had seen that he could defend himself when things stayed verbal.

Too many slushies to the face and to the back, too many shoves and hits and being thrown into dumpsters left him aloof and hesitant to reach out and touch. Asking for it was just _asking for it_, and Kurt Hummel was not stupid. The feeling of lips he didn't want pressing insistently against his own that crept up on him if he thought too much about it said plenty.

It was easier now, and Kurt didn't hesitate to wrap one of his girlfriends up in a hug or to take her hand, or even lean over and kiss her on the cheek because he knew that he wouldn't get hurt.

But to reach out and touch Finn, or Noah Puckerman? Even Mike Chang? That wasn't going to happen anytime soon, even now. Especially now, after he still jumped at loud noises and raised voices and footsteps coming up behind him.

Kurt Hummel was a lot of things, but above anything else, he was a survivor who knew how to keep himself safe.

Trust slowly, trust carefully, and don't touch other guys because that'll get you hit.

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><p>Blaine Anderson had always been tactile.<p>

He'd always been the child who gave hugs, who held hands, who patted cheeks and touched hair, and up until the end of middle school, he'd never really been told that it was such a huge problem. As a child, it was cute.

As a middle schooler, it was _gay_.

So he stopped touching and things didn't really get better.

Blaine Anderson had never been very good at handling mean comments and jabs because for a good long while, he'd never had to. He eventually got to the point where he could kind of let it brush off though, because that was what everyone told him to do, and his father just patted his head and told him to stand up for himself and be a man. Words were fine, he could handle those because he could say mean things back.

Blaine had never hit anyone aside from an accidental smack in the arm or shoulder when he wasn't watching where he was going, so it was no wonder that what happened on the night of that dance threw him as hard as it did.

Mr. Anderson never knew until he got the call from the hospital just what the other kids were bullying his son over, and the first thing he could think of to say to Blaine was that it was no wonder he got beaten up.

He didn't hate his son and he didn't hit his son. He just never touched him again after that.

Blaine instantly realized several things after that, only one of which being that he'd rather leave the few fair-weather friends he had and transfer to a boarding school than see that look of disappointment and miss what he'd had before.

The other thing he learned was that if he let people touch him, he was going to get hurt.

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><p>There was only so long that Kurt could listen to Wesley drone on about the rich and extensive Warbler history cultivated throughout the years before he started spacing out and wondering when he'd reached the point in his life that he was searching for cracks to count in the damned immaculate ceiling. The meetings were about sixty percent practice, thirty percent discussion, and ten percent history lesson. Kurt <em>liked<em> history, but not even he could find anything interesting in this.

He wasn't alone at least; he could have sworn that Blaine was sleeping with his eyes open on the sofa next to him and Nick was nudging Jeff every time the blonde boy's head slipped back against the cushion.

So Kurt let his mind wander, and wander and wander. He thought about his friends back at McKinley and he thought about what he was going to wear with the new jeans he'd bought the other day, and he thought about what the world would be like if the square root of four actually _was_ rainbows.

…the world might actually be a better place if it was. He'd have to thank Brittany for being wonderful and brilliant when he got the chance.

Kurt didn't really notice when Wes ended the meeting , but he noticed in a big way when Blaine was suddenly much closer than he had been and a hand was coming towards him.

Reflexes going off before his brain, the taller boy recoiled like a wound up spring, scrambling up off the seat as if it had burned him. Instantly, his breathing staggered and it took a few seconds for him to realize that he'd grabbed his bag up with him, clutching it to his chest like a shield. He'd also instantly grabbed the attention of the entire room.

Kurt could feel all of their eyes on him, some curious and some concerned, but oh god, _Blaine's_ was the worst because he looked so hurt, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as if he couldn't believe that Kurt had shied away from him.

Blue eyes shuttered in guilt and Kurt's stomach twisted unpleasantly.

"I-I'm sorry," he said finally, voice frustratingly small.

The room had gone quiet and Kurt looked to the door on instinct, mentally calculating how quickly he'd be able to get to it if he needed to before he mentally slapped himself. This was Dalton. No one was going to shove him around without fear of severe retribution by the administrators. No one was allowed to touch him in a way he didn't want. Not here. No one was allowed to touch him, and he didn't want them to touch him.

Blaine was still watching him, and Kurt forced a smile that looked more painful than pleased.

The older boy returned it, finally, and stood as well. Slowly and deliberately, he leaned in and patted Kurt on the shoulder, fingers warm and solid.

Kurt shivered under it.

Blaine's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, speculative.

"Hey, let's head out," he offered as if nothing had out of the ordinary happened, and Kurt tried to calm his heartbeat. "I'm starving, you want to grab a snack with me?"

"Uh… yeah. Sure," Kurt replied after a pause, blue eyes scanning over his friend, "Let's do that."

The matter was dropped, but Kurt knew that he'd be thinking for a good long while.

A snack might distract him, but he knew he'd find his way back to the lingering feeling in his shoulder from where Blaine touched him, and the residual desire to ask for it again, to lean into it and really feel it.

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><p>When Blaine lay in bed that night, he knew that sleep wouldn't come easily to him.<p>

The night was quiet, the only sound filtering through the halls were the occasional footsteps of the on-call dorm monitor, and a strip of moonlight shone in through his window, lighting up a section of his blanket.

Blaine was tired, but all he could think about was Kurt's face when he'd moved towards him earlier. The boy generally tried to play the unbreakable tough guy but all Blaine could see was how raw and scared he'd looked at the time. He knew it had probably been a bad idea, but he'd reached out again, forcing himself to be obvious about it.

If anything, Kurt had looked more like a deer in the headlights than he had the first time. But he hadn't moved away that time, standing stock-still and letting Blaine touch him. He'd felt the shudder go through his frame and the odd, conflicted light in his eyes that didn't really recede until halfway through eating their frozen yogurt.

Blaine made a frustrated groaning noise and rolled over in his bed, shoving his face into his pillow.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about this?

Blaine remembered how Kurt had felt under his hands. He could count on both of his hands how often he'd been casually touched since transferring here, and the number of times he'd been hugged was reduced to one hand. Dalton was formal and Dalton's boys tended to keep a distance and stick with handshakes. That was the way he liked it because no one could get mad at him for something he didn't do. Not here.

Kurt had been warm and tall and oddly fragile, and Blaine couldn't get that look of his out of his head. Wariness, tension, and…something. Something that Blaine couldn't name if his life depended on it.

He wondered idly what would happen if he touched him again. He wondered what would happen if _Kurt_ touched _him_.

Blaine threw his pillow and watched it hit the wall.

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><p>Kurt woke up upset and annoyed.<p>

He was used to nightmares, used to shoving them into that box that he put everything he couldn't deal with right then, but he wasn't used to _this_. He was used to waking up frightened and in a cold sweat, used to waking up and crying out because he'd woken up Finn and Finn had woken him with his hands on his shoulders.

He wasn't used to dreaming about Blaine.

Oh no, it wasn't the kind of dream that would have Santana waggling her eyebrows and smirking, the kind of dream that would inspire Puckerman to wolf whistle.

All he could remember was Blaine leaning forward and twining his arms around him to pull him close, and Dream Kurt didn't flinch. Dream Kurt wasn't scared. This apparently happened all the time to Dream Kurt, because he essentially _melted_ into the touch and it felt good and _safe_ and knowing that it would only ever happen in his head was worse than not knowing at all.

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled on his shirt and blazer, expertly tied the tie around his neck, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Dream Kurt had to look better than real Kurt, because real Kurt looked like crap. At least that's what the puffiness beneath his eyes and what the unruliness of his hair said.

Kurt shook his head and sighed.

Whatever.

He needed to eat, needed to get to class, and needed to stop thinking about this.

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><p>Blaine had been doing awesome that day. He'd focused on all of his class work, did well on a couple of quizzes, and socialized all during lunch.<p>

And then Warblers practice rolled along, and there was Kurt.

Kurt with those _shoulders_ that Blaine found himself fighting the urge to touch, who looked at him and smiled and made sure to keep at least ten inches between body parts when they sat together.

Blaine fidgeted all through practice and caught more disapproving looks from Wes than he'd received all year.

_Are you okay?_ Kurt mouthed to him in the middle of She Is Love and Blaine quickly looked away. Blue eyes dropped, and Blaine found himself sidling back over to him, reaching out with deliberation. His hand landed to rest on Kurt's upper back, and Blaine felt more than saw the full-body shudder that ran through the other boy. The conflicted look was back in his eyes, and Blaine pulled away.

If Kurt didn't want to be touched, that was nothing new to him.

But then Kurt softly, almost imperceptibly swayed a little farther to the side than he needed to, brushing his shoulder up against Blaine's in a way that couldn't possibly be an accident. Never an accident, not with Kurt.

And Blaine _felt_.

It was something so small but had the potency of a battering ram, running up his spine and filling his knee caps with jell-o and Blaine could help the miniscule stagger in his step. It only lasted a second, but it was enough to short his brain just the slightest bit.

Kurt wasn't looking at him anymore, instead watching the walls because he could harmonize like this in his sleep.

Blaine tried to get his focus back onto the song but found himself distracted anyway by the tingly, buzzing feeling radiating out from the spot that Kurt had brushed.

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><p>Kurt always felt better after dancing.<p>

He was never the best dancer in New Directions (viva la Mike Chang, you talented bastard) but he liked it anyway and it helped him feel better in his own skin. He didn't really consider himself _attractive_ per say, but he knew that he was at his best and felt his best when he was loose and relaxed and dancing around like no one gave a damn.

He used to do it all the time back when he was at McKinley, taking claim of the gym with Santana and Brit and Quinn and just getting his groove on with the speakers up because they were Cheerios and they could. He danced with Mercedes and Tina too, turning his basement into a Lady Gaga-blasting disco hall at the drop of the hat.

And he was doing it now, holed up in his dorm room.

It was kind of empowering, to be honest.

The only things ringing through Kurt's ears at the moment were the dulcet tones of Mr. Lambert himself, thanks to his iPod attached to his upper arm and the ear buds threaded up through his shirt.

He didn't hear anything but the music. Didn't hear the knock on the door or the voice calling his name. He didn't hear the second knock or the warning that whoever was on the outside was going to open the door. He didn't even see Blaine tentatively open the door a tiny crack first before stepping all the way inside.

He didn't see at all until he whirled around and nearly collided with the other boy, throwing himself away to avoid slamming into him. Blaine took an instinctual step back, watching his friend skitter away like he'd almost run off a cliff.

"Whoa, whoa!"

"Holy crap, Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed, and yanked the head phones out of his ears. "Did you knock?"

"Yeah," the other boy answered, "For like, five minutes. I asked if I could open the door or if you wanted me to go away, but you didn't answer. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

Kurt glanced guiltily to his music player and shut it off. A soft, manicured hand rose and scratched the back of his head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I'm really sorry, I kind of got lost in…" Kurt made a sweeping gesture around his room, "You know."

Blaine smiled crookedly at him and suddenly looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable. Kurt was instantly on edge.

"Can…can I ask you something?" he said finally. The shorter boy's voice was low and the words sounded almost like they hurt to say. The feeling of foreboding twisted up in Kurt's gut and he swallowed it down.

"Um…you kind of just did. But sure. Shoot."

Blaine didn't look reassured in the slightest.

"Yeah…um. This is gonna sound really weird."

_Oh god, _Kurt couldn't help but think.

"I was wondering if, uh…you could, um…" Blaine was floundering but there was no way in any universe that Kurt could possibly finish what he was trying to say, "There's not really anyone I…anyone I really trust to go with this to. A-and…"

"Blaine," Kurt spoke up, spine straightening partly from confusion. Cocking his head, he peered down slightly at his friend, now legitimately concerned. "What is it? I'll help you if I can. Are you okay?"

"Can you…" the other boy had colored, "Can you touch me?"

If that wasn't the absolute last thing that Kurt had expected to come out of Blaine's mouth, he wasn't sure what was. Maybe if he had asked him how to woo Wes and David at the same time, but probably not even then.

"I mean, not like…like sleeping together or doing stuff like that!" Blaine instantly backpedaled the moment he saw Kurt's mouth drop open in blatant shock. "I just mean…" he trailed off.

Dead silence.

Blaine opened his mouth to try and continue, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat.

Kurt couldn't do anything but stand there, feeling as if he'd just been run over by a killdozer.

"God I cannot do anything right, can I?" Blaine muttered under his breath, finally meeting Kurt's eyes again. "Can I try again?"

Mutely, Kurt nodded.

"Can I have a hug?"

Yeah, the words were ones he understood, but somehow they didn't compute. Blaine wanted a hug. From him. Blaine Anderson wanted a hug from Kurt Hummel and was standing here, _asking him_.

Blaine was standing there looking so lost and Kurt knew that look on his face from seeing it often enough in his mirror and if he were anyone but himself he wouldn't have had to think about it. He'd have been able to take that easy step forward and wrap his arms around the other boy and hold him tight because _good freaking god he wanted to_, and even if he didn't want to so much, he'd do about anything to take that look off his face. He wanted to, so badly.

Something stopped him.

His feet wouldn't move and he remembered how Dream Kurt had made it feel so easy and Blaine was looking at him like he was expecting to be shanked and rejected. He _wanted_. Kurt wanted so badly, but he couldn't move forward, couldn't take a step, couldn't initiate it. He just couldn't.

He couldn't step forward.

But maybe, maybe he could…

Finally, tentatively, after much deliberation, Kurt took a deep breath and opened his arms.

Blaine spent maybe half a second staring at him in shock before taking that step himself, stepping into Kurt's personal space and twining his arms around his waist and squeezing firmly. Firmly, not tightly. Solid and steady and warm. Respectful and safe and it half blew his mind because his girls gave good hugs but they were never, ever like this.

Never, never, never.

Kurt fought the urge to let his knees buckle underneath him and all he wanted to do was wrap himself around Blaine like a blanket. To be a shield, to _have_ a shield.

Blaine had tucked his face into the juncture in between Kurt's neck and shoulder, fingers clenching in the fabric at Kurt's back. Like nothing in the world could pull him away.

Finally, slowly, very slowly and with a shaky exhale, Kurt closed his arms around him.

If Blaine thought that he was going to explode when he saw Kurt give his permission to reach out for him, it was nothing compared to how he felt when he felt the other boy's arms around him. It was an awkward hold at first, loose and hesitant and he could almost feel Kurt thinking _oh what the hell do I do with my arms?_ because it took a while for him to settle on where to put them, but he eventually made up his mind and all Blaine could think was that he wanted to cry.

He could count on one hand the number of hugs he'd had since coming to Dalton, but every single one of them had been of the one-armed bro grab variety. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been pressed up against someone like this, secure and completely unashamed, hiding his face in Kurt's shirt and trying to keep his breathing steady.

It had been so damned long.

So, so, so long.

Blaine remembered being fourteen and scared and being in the hospital, the memories of hits and blows ringing in his head, and remembered wanting his parents to come in and hold him and say that it would be okay. Once they'd found out why, it never happened. They just saw their dreams die. Blaine saw his security wither away and wilt on the vine, deadened and scorched.

He just held Kurt tighter.

A hand with longer, paler fingers than his own made it to his head, and Kurt hesitantly stroked over gelled curls, unsure of whether or not that was going to be a boundary. Half-terrified that it was going to be a boundary.

Blaine just shivered, pressing himself closer.

"Hey…hey, are you okay?" Kurt whispered finally, "What's wrong? Am I doing something wrong? I'm sor-"

"Don't. Please, please, please don't apologize." Blaine's voice was muffled and small in his shirt. "You're doing everything right. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed." He didn't say why and he didn't elaborate further. "It's just…it's been a while."

He really, really just wanted to cry. Cry because it had been so long, cry because he'd forgotten that he could feel, cry because someone was _holding_ him and not using his hands to hit or pretending to not be so disappointed in him.

Kurt shook.

It wasn't like he'd never been hugged before. It wasn't. But even though he knew how much his father loved him, he wasn't the most physically demonstrative of men most of the time, and Finn had hugged him at the wedding but that had been half-terrifying and quick and everyone had been so _happy._

This was nothing accidental.

This was Blaine Anderson telling Kurt Hummel that he wanted to hug him because he wanted to. That he was worth touching. That he wasn't some despicable creature that crawled out of a big gay swamp that would radiate gay germs. That there was something about him that was worth being close to.

That realization shook him to the core and he dropped his head, letting his eyes close.

He couldn't say anything.

Couldn't try and explain himself, couldn't ask Blaine a single thing, ask him about what brought this on. He might later, but not now. He felt strangely raw and hypersensitive, like something had ripped him open and replaced his spine with a lightning rod.

They'd talk later, and he'd probably, definitely cry. Blaine might cry too, for all he knew.

For now, though, all he could do was hold on and try to stop shaking.

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><p>AN: And there we go! Please review if you enjoyed it or if you want to pelt me with rotten fruit.<p> 


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